The Oasis by Pauline Gedge Read Free Book Online Page A

march at the head of men armed and ready for assault.
    His conversations with the Princes of Akhmin, Badari and Djawati as he was reunited with each one had followed much the same pattern as his encounters with Intef and to a lesser degree, Ankhmahor. They had greeted him with reverence and shown their willingness to fulfil their pledges of aid and loyalty, but they clearly did not like the prospect of sharing their responsibilities with, or worse, taking orders from, a black Wawat tribesman. Each agreed to reserve judgement. Each insinuated politely and indirectly that they were risking a great deal in supporting Kamose’s claim to the Horus Throne while the foreigner faced nothing more than a swift trek through the desert back to where he clearly belonged if they failed.
    In vain, and with a mounting impatience that threatened to become rage, Kamose recounted Hor-Aha’s faithfulness to Seqenenra, his return to Weset with Apepa’s departure when he might have been wiser to stay safely in Wawat, the sealing of his commitment to the House of Tao when he accepted Egyptian citizenship and a title. “He will stay with us until he has amassed enough plunder and then he will disappear,” Iasen had said bluntly, before returning to the polite to-ing and fro-ing in which he and Kamose were engaged. “Foreigners are all the same and the barbarians of Wawat are the worst of all.” Ahmose had clutched his brother’s arm to prevent Kamose from an outburst of frustrated temper, and Kamose had clenched his teeth and made some pacifying reply. He understood their attitude. Egypt was an occupied nation. Foreigners held the power. Setiu or from Wawat, they were all suspect in the eyes of these men.
    Hor-Aha himself did not seem much affected by the slights. “I will prove them all wrong,” was his response. “Give them time, Majesty. Insults cannot harm a man with confidence in himself and his own abilities.” Kamose thought his imperturbability in the face of such insults unnatural but quashed the niggle of doubt regarding his General by reminding himself that Hor-Aha had been spawned by a very different culture, one where perhaps it was not wise to rise to every bait. Iasen had been entirely correct in his assessment of the barbaric temperament. The men of Wawat were primitive in their beliefs and behaviour, their tribal vendettas and the petty squabbling of their chieftains over trifles, but Hor-Aha was different. He could see farther than his fellows. He had been born with the qualities of a leader. His Medjay obeyed him without question in their dumb, pagan way, and their coolness under fire, their awesome skill with the bow, their facility for going without food or water for long periods, spoke of a way of life unknown to the peasants who sweated and stumbled towards the north under the lash of their officers’ tongues and dreamed of their peaceful little hovels and the comfort of their tiny arouras.
    Well, to Set with them, Kamose thought sourly as he stood beside Ahmose in the prow of his boat, the darkness of night around him and the darkness of water below. The sound of the muffled oars was an almost imperceptible creaking and the occasional whispers of captain to helmsman struck somehow sinister to Kamose’s straining ears. He glanced behind him to where the stern reared black against the scarcely lighter background of the sky but could not see beyond it to Ankhmahor’s raft or Hor-Aha’s boat beyond that. Hor-Aha is my right hand, and they will have to accept him as such. What would they say if they knew that at the first opportunity I intend to have my Egyptian bowmen trained by the Medjay and then placed under Medjay officers as free-wheeling units to harry the enemy’s flanks?
    On his left the shrouded bank slid past, the end of the path along which the dwellers at Qes led their oxen and donkeys to drink showing briefly as a patch of grey. Ahmose’s head also turned towards it and Kamose knew that his